


i am just a poor boy, though my story's seldom told

by CoreyStaves



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Origin Story, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:57:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1329274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoreyStaves/pseuds/CoreyStaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is eleven years when his father abandons him on a ship with a 6-month-old sister he had never known. A Killian Jones origin story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i am just a poor boy, though my story's seldom told

**Author's Note:**

> He is eleven years when his father abandons him on a ship with a 6-month-old sister he had never known. A Killian Jones origin story. Will probably continue into a Captain Swan story in later chapters. Contains an OC.
> 
> So basically I had this idea of another Jones sibling a few months ago, and I started to write a fic where the Storybrooke gang would meet her when they went to Neverland. However, I also really wanted to develop this relationship that I envisioned between this OC and Killian more before the others actually met her, which then evolved into this first chapter.
> 
> Basically, I'm trying to fill in blanks of Killian Jones' life, starting with when he was abandoned by his father. To make sure that there is enough of an age gap between Liam, Killian, and my OC I've fiddled with timelines a bit, but this shouldn't start showing until later chapters.
> 
> Thanks for reading.

He is eleven years when his father abandons him on a ship with a 6-month-old sister he had never known.

 

It was only a week and a half earlier when he was sitting at his mother’s bedside, holding her hand as another coughing fit shook her body. Her other hand was held to her mouth, tinted red from the blood that was coming up from her lungs. A healer had come a few days earlier. She did not have many more days left in her, he had said.

 

So Killian sat next to his dying mother for four days as he saw the life leave her body. Around him he could smell his mother’s fine perfume, which his father had brought her after one of his grand voyages. Her room was also decorated with art and trinkets, all gifted to her when he came around. Even though they lived in one of the poorer villages of the kingdom, Killian and his mother had never had to live in poverty. His father would always come to them with bags of gold, along with treasures from across the land that they could sell to buy food and clothes. Then, when his elder brother Liam left to join the King’s Navy, an allowance was sent to them every month.

 

When the last gift had arrived from his brother, Killian had given the messenger a note to return to Liam. As soon as his mother had been confined to her bed, she had asked Killian to write it for her. He sat at the small wooden desk in her room as she relayed him the message, and he wrote it out slowly in the neat and looping letters that she had taught him when he was younger.

 

He cried as he wrote it.

 

In the letter, his mother had asked Liam to come home. Begged to see him one last time before she died. He had been 17 when he had left, and would have been 23 at the time Killian wrote the letter.

 

Liam never came. Killian made himself believe that it was because the letter had never reached him, and not that he just didn’t care anymore.

 

As his mother lay in her bed, he stayed by her side and took care of her. He brought her warm soup in the mornings and evenings, even though he could not make it as well as she used to. Then, throughout the day he would sit in his wooden chair and talk with her. Often she would ask him to go pick a book from a shelf on the wall. His mother took pride in the collection of tomes she had accumulated throughout the years. Even though her collection could not be compared to the library of a high lord, she still deemed them precious enough to make sure that both of her sons would be able to cherish them just as she had. Both Liam and Killian had been taught to read and write from a young age by their mother. Killian was the only boy of his age that could do so in the entire village.

 

“Killian, sweetheart, I wish to hear a story.” She asked, her voice strained and gravelly.

 

“Yes, mother,” he got up from his seat and walked over to the bookshelf, “What do you want me to read today, mama?”

 

“Let’s continue the one we started a couple days ago. The one about tin soldier, love.” Nodding, Killian carefully pulled the leather-bound tome from the shelf, and returned to his seat. He opened the book to the page they had last read, marked by a dead leaf he had found outside the house door a few days ago. He drew a breath and slowly began to read.

 

“The tin soldier looked up at the prince from his place on the ground. Rather than looking back at him with fear, the prince held a look of appreciation in his eyes, ‘I thank you for saving me, my friend.’ The prince stated, holding his hand out for the tin soldier to grasp as he helped him up from the forest floor. ‘It is of no problem, my prince. Your are the son of my king, and therefore my alleg...allay...’” Killian stuttered over the last word, not knowing how to pronounce it.

 

“Allegiance, love.” His mother corrected him. He looked up from the page to see her staring back at him, a small smile on her face.

 

“Allegiance.” He repeated slowly, feeling how the word rolled off his tongue, then returned to his reading.

 

“‘...is yours. It has been my honour to protect you, my prince.” Killian continued to read until the last page. By then, the sun had set and he only had the light of a candle to read by. Looking up from the book he saw his mother sleeping soundly. He quietly got up from his place, and put the book away, then returned to his seat and blew out the light. He fell asleep to the sound of light rain on the roof of the house.

 

When his mother drew her last breath, he had still been asleep. It wasn’t until he had woken up that he had noticed her passing. Panicked, he leapt from his seat, pushing the chair to the floor in the process.

 

“Mama,” he cried,”Mama! Wake up Mama!” He shook her cold body with his hands, hoping that a miracle would bring her back to him. Tears fell liberally from his eyes down onto his mother’s pale cheeks. Looking down at her face, he saw that her eyelids were closed, and her lips had been set in a straight line. Her dark brown hair was spread around her head on the pillow she lay on. She had passed away peacefully , while she had slept, and without any pain.

 

He stood by his mother the rest of the day, grieving over her body. The next day, he ran over to the healer’s hut across the village. By the end of the day, his mother was gone, buried in the ground while he cried next to the grave. That night he returned to his house, alone. He went straight into his mother’s room, and wrapped himself in the blankets upon her bed. They still smelt like her perfume.

 

He stayed there for 4 days before his father came.

Killian never had seen his father as much as he should have when he was growing up. The man never stayed with him and his mother for more than a month, preferring to go wandering around the kingdom, collecting trinkets and gold. When he did come, he scared Killian more than the boy cared to admit. His father was a tall man, with broad shoulders and a scar that reached from the bottom of his neck to his left ear, half of which had been chopped off. Like Killian, he had black hair that always seemed to stand on end and piercing blue eyes that reminded Killian of the deep blue sea. His father also had always sported a beard that covered the lower half of his face when ever he returned from his voyages.

 

Every time the man had visited he had brought something back for the boy. When he was little it was often wooden toy soldiers and horse. Most recently, his father came back with a small knife, barely a dagger, that was held within it’s own sheath. That night, as Killian had tried to fall asleep, he heard his parents outside his door, arguing about something that he could not understand.

 

When his father comes for Killian, he is still wrapped in his mother’s blankets. The man comes into the room, and kneels down to his son, looking in his eyes.

 

“Come, lad, we must leave.” He states, his voice rough and low and so different from the melodic timbre of his mother’s voice. The voice that used to sing him to sleep when he had nightmare as a lad. Killian shakes his head, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself as tears start to form in his eyes.

 

“No, papa, no!” He whimpers. His father has obviously no time for his weeping. With strong arms he reaches out and quickly pries his son from the bed, throwing him over his shoulder. Killian still cries as his head is thrown upside down, and starts to kick and punch his father so he can free himself. But his father’s arm is tight around his waist, and he is too tired to run. Around him he barely notices that it is dark outside, and that his father is walking towards the docks of the village he lived in. Tired, his eyes start to droop closed. He hears his father talking to someone before he drops into blessed unconsciousness.

 

“You takin’ the kid with you?”

 

“For a time, yes. I need to be let off in the next port, have some business to attend there. Afterwards, take him to the port after that and drop him off.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

* * *

 

When he wakes up he is lying on a wooden floor. A threadbare blanket that smells of rotten fish has been thrown over his body. He sits up slowly, rubbing his blurry eyes so he can view his surroundings. All around him are barrels, stacked atop one another. The floor he is sitting upon feels as if it is moving up and down. It takes him a second to realise he is on a boat. He sees his father sitting against the other side of the room, gnawing on something in his hands.

“Ah, I see you're finally up, lad.” He says, “Are you hungry?” He reaches across the small room and puts a piece of a biscuit in Killian’s lap. The boy picks it up and starts to chew gently on the hard piece of bread.

 

“Thank you, papa.” The man grunts in answer.

 

“You better make it last, boy. That’s all you’re gonna be getting today.” His father stands up, dusting of his trousers, “We’ll be docking into port in a couple of hours. Now I have some business to take care of when we get there. But you’ll have to stay in here, you hear me lad?”

 

“Yes, papa.” He whispers.

 

“Good boy.” He swiftly leaves the room, leaving Killian in alone for the rest of the day. The boy stayed there, listening to the waves crashing against the outside of the boat. Once, the waves had gotten so rough that they sounded like thunder during a storm. The boat rocked so much that his stomach got upset, he leapt off the floor and threw up the meager breakfast he had had that day into the closest barrel.

 

To pass the time he spent down in the room full of barrels he pretended that he was a hero in one of the books he had read to his mother. That he was the tin soldier, stowing away on a merchant’s boat as he adventured across the lands to save his king’s son.

 

When they reached port, he heard the sound of shouting from the outside, and a person coming down to where he hid. They stomped outside of the door as he hid behind a barrel, shaking because of fear.

 

It wasn’t until late that night when his father returned to him. He couldn’t fall asleep, so he had stayed up singing a song that his mother used to sing to him when he was younger. When his father stormed back inside the room he held a bundle of cloth in his hands, which was making noises.

 

“Come here lad.” Killian slowly got up from his seat on the floor and walked over to his father, who had bent down to get closer to his son’s face. As Killian got closer to the bundle of cloth he noticed that it was actually wrapped around something, lifting a piece of the cloth he saw a pair of blue eyes that stared back at him.

 

A baby girl with eyes as blue as his. She gurgled at him, and her little hands that were concealed by the cloth had reached up to touch his arm. He quickly pulled it away, still staring at her face.

 

“Heheh, don’t be scared lad,” his father chortled, “Come here, boy, hold her for me.” Killian startled as the bundle was pushed into his arms, quickly putting his arms up like his father had and cradling her to his chest, surprised at how light she was. She gurgled again. He looked back at his father, who was looking down at him, his face expressionless. The man knelt before him.

 

“Now I need you to take care of her, alright? Just for a bit while I talk to the captain. I’ll be back in a jiff.”

 

Killian nodding quickly, his eyes wide. His father rose to full height, then quickly left Killian with the baby held in his arms. Walking slowly so as not to drop he went back to his place on the floor, slowly sliding down the wall until his bottom hit the ground. He continued to look at the little girl in his arms as she continued to gurgle up at him.

 

“He...hello.” He murmured to her. She stopped her noises and continued to stare up at him, reaching her hands up to touch his face. He flinched away for a second, before her face scrunched up as if she was about to cry. Then, readjusting her in his arms, he held out his index finger to her hand as she grasped it tightly.

 

“Gah!” she exclaimed. He chuckled.

 

“Hello, little lady.” He said, moving her tiny hand up and down in greeting. “What’s your name, I wonder.” He stated, as if he expected an answer from her. “You look like me, though, and like papa. So, are we related?” He wondered aloud. She gurgled, her little face then stretched into a yawn, her eyes squinting tight.

 

“You’re tired?” He asked. “Well, then you can sleep here, little lady. I’ll be here. I’ll protect you.” He said. For the next while he sat, just staring down at her as she closed her eyes and brought herself to sleep. He fell asleep soon afterwards, still clutching the bundle to his chest.

 

Hours later he was jolted awake by the baby crying in his arms. Looking around, he saw that his papa had still not returned. Looking down at the bundle he saw that her face was scrunched up in pain as small tears left her eyes. Panicking, he tried to calm her down.

 

“Shhhhh, quiet little lady, it’s okay, it’s okay.” He whispered soothingly, rocking her back in forth in his arms. She continued to cry. “Shhhhhh.” He continued, but she wouldn’t stop crying. Suddenly, he remembered the song his mother used to sing when he couldn’t fall asleep. With a short breath, he quietly started to sing. Not as well as his mother did, and quite out of tune, but there was no quiver in his voice as the words fell from his mouth.

 

_Hush, my child_

_For it is not long_

_Until I will come for you_

_As I sail on the sea_

_To find you_

_Locked away in your tower_

_Then we shall be together_

_And we shall be safe_

_And you will smile, my child_

_For you have returned to me_

 

That night he repeated the words until the baby in his arms had stopped crying and returned to a restless sleep.

  
When looking back at that night as an adult, he would swear that that was the night he fell in love with the little sister he never knew about.


End file.
